


The Circus Job

by Soquilii9



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen, circus abused animal rescue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4272747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parker has a plan to shut down a circus abusing its animals</p><p>By Soquilii and Rowingmaiden</p><p>Dedicated to the memory of Fidji...a dog left in a hot car for four hours while his owners shopped</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Note: Some suspension of disbelief is appreciated! :)_  


At a posh second-story restaurant one sunny Saturday, Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker were enjoying lunch on the outdoor patio. Not one to sample the many varieties of beer available along with exotic steaks and seafood dishes such as the boys were having, Parker was content with a coke and a hamburger. Indeed, she would have preferred a bowl of cereal.

'Parker, you gotta learn how to eat like an adult,' said Eliot. 

'Aw, leave her alone, man, you know how she is. Let her eat what she wants,' Hardison chimed in, always more accepting of Parker's unique idiosyncrasies than his partner. 

'You're missin' out, Parker. Hey - you like what _I_ cook, don't you?' 

'Not really.' 

Eliot dropped his silverware on his plate and stared at her, incensed. 

'Hey,' Hardison chimed in, 'look at the dessert menu, Parker. They got something called a _chocolate volcano._ Want one?' 

She nodded. Eliot shook his head in annoyance and picked up his fork. He wasn't about to let Parker's weird palate interfere with his stuffed flatiron steak. 

The team ate in silence for a few minutes. 

The balcony overlooked an area of the city which featured a small pasture adjacent to a park. Next to that was a shopping mall. Something caught Hardison's eye: a dark yellow and red-striped structure rising into view. It seemed to riffle in the wind. Small flags waved from its highest point. 

'Hey, Parker, look!' 

She turned in her chair toward where Hardison was pointing. 'Oh wow - isn't that a circus going up?!' 

'Looks like it.' 

She turned back to Hardison, face alight with glee. Before she could say anything, Eliot headed her off. 

'Forget it, Parker, it's just one of those traveling dog-and-pony shows. Not worth it.' 

'We won't know until we get there!' 

'Haven't you outgrown that kind of stuff?' Eliot said irritably. 

'I didn't notice you complaining when you took Molly Connell to that carnival! 

Eliot scowled. 'That was different, Parker, we were on a _job!_ I got hit by a carnival ride! Did you notice me having any fun?' 

'Hardison?' 

'Aw, Babe, I wanted to get back to the office after lunch. Workin' on a new computer worm. Gonna need it for that bank job we're plannin'.' 

'Neither one of you knows how to have any fun!' 

'Aw, I wouldn't say _that,_ Parker…' said Eliot, the memory of a recent date with a luscious, blonde stewardess still fresh in his mind. 

Parker stood up and shoved her chair up to the table. 'I'm going. By myself. See you back at headquarters!' 

She flounced off. 

'She didn't even finish her burger,' said Hardison, looking sadly at Eliot. 

'You think they won't have cotton candy, man? She'll be fine!'


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parker has a plan to shut down a circus abusing its animals
> 
> By Soquilii and Rowingmaiden
> 
> Dedicated to the memory of Fidji

By the time Parker arrived, the small circus was set up and ready for the matinee. Ticket in hand, she entered the tent and took a seat ringside. Not many people were in attendance. _They need a better advance man,_ she thought.

She bought popcorn, peanuts and a coke from the vendor and settled herself on the hard metal bench to enjoy the show. It had been a long time since she saw a circus. When she was a teenager, Archie had surprised her with tickets to Ringling Brothers’ massive show. He had sat beside her, buying her everything the vendors were selling and politely clapping for the various acts. It really wasn’t his thing, but he was doing it for her and she was grateful. No foster family had ever done so much. 

Canned music filtered through speakers instead of a live band. The announcer stepped to the center ring to announce the Grand Entry, and the circus artists marched through the tent portal and slowly circled the small arena. Everyone clapped and cheered. Acrobats on motorized floats followed trapeze artists on another; clowns of all sizes and shapes were everywhere. A man wearing a top hat on stilts swung the legs rhythmically to the music as he walked. Fire-breathers and jugglers followed. 

A parade of elephants was next. They were few in number and their appearance brought Parker up short. She ceased clapping. There were four adults and a calf about a year old, all dutifully walking trunk-to-tail, albeit slowly, around the arena. They were outfitted with gaudy drapings and the four adults were topped by a feathered, female rider. When they moved out of the shadows into the light, no amount of draping could disguise how thin they were. They moved in a lethargic manner. Parker watched them as they made their way to her position. At closer range, she noted red, raw, chafed areas and what looked like wounds. They were the last in the lineup and made their weary way back out the door. Parker watched them as they went. 

She turned back to watch as an acrobatic act opened the show, followed by trapeze artists. The first animal act was brought out, six energetic dogs who performed well. They were followed by clown antics, after which the big cat cage was set up. Far from the ‘death defying’ announcement and buildup, the act was disappointing. The trainer could barely keep the lions and tiger on their feet, much less make it appear they were ready to eat him alive. They, like the elephants, were thin, lethargic. 

The lion act was cut short, and bareback riders came in on four white horses; like the elephants, they wore strategically placed drapes made of colorful silks to disguise the prominent ribs. However, they dutifully cantered around the ring while their riders balanced on their backs. 

Parker decided she didn’t want to stay to see the rest of the show. She wanted to see more of the animals outside of the arena. Leaving her snacks on the bench, she made her way to the exit. 

‘Do you want your hand stamped, Miss?’ asked the door tender. 

‘No.’ 

‘Well, then, I’m sorry but I can’t let you back in later.’ 

She stared at him a minute. ‘Fine. Where do they keep the animals?’ 

‘If you wanted to see the animals perform, Miss, you should have stayed in the tent.’ 

‘Forget it!’ Parker stepped over the threshold of her angry place and stalked off to find them for herself. _All I have to do is follow my nose, anyway,_ she thought. 

Behind the main tent was a row of vehicles and trailers. Sure enough, the wind changed and wafted the odors of the stockyards in her direction. It wasn’t a pleasant odor; there was a lot of manure and the odors of spoiled food; underlying that, a medicinal smell, sinister and secretive. Parker deftly avoided the few employees attending the animals and looked in on all the cages, trailers and enclosures. The two lions and tiger she had seen perform reclined tiredly on dirty straw in their respective cages. The elephants, thin, seemingly devoid of hope, chained by one hind foot to rings hammered into the ground, swayed in boredom, their trunks dragging the ground listlessly. There were three seals, a llama, a bear and twelve horses: four ring stock and eight baggage stock. A cage of monkeys chittered and scampered all over their cage. In another enclosure she found the six dogs. The smaller animals seemed to be fairly well cared for but the larger ones had been badly neglected. The worst of these were the elephants. 

Wraithlike, Parker made her way through the enclosures. The animals were fairly quiet at the approach of a stranger, even the dogs failed to bark. All of them seemed cowed, beaten down, frightened. Parker knew fear. Once terrified of horses, she had overcome that fear with Eliot’s help. She bravely approached the horses and stroked their velvety noses. They nickered softly, grateful for a kind touch. Without their colorful drapes, their ribs and hipbones were painfully evident. 

Parker left the enclosures and wandered through the midway. Despite her lack of social skills, as a thief and pickpocket she was a good reader of people; she studied the faces of the circus employees she passed. She stopped to get a coke and struck up a conversation with a man lighting up a cigarette behind the concession stand. 

‘Hi,’ she said, flatly. 'You work here?' 

He didn’t answer right away. He frankly looked her up and down and hesitated as if reluctant to return a simple greeting. 

’Uh…hello.’ He took a deep drag off his cigarette. ‘Yeah, I do. Roustabout. You lost?’ 

‘Uh, no, I’m sort of… well… I'm looking for a job.' 

‘Izzat so.’ 

_Circus people are insular,_ she reminded herself. _I need him to talk to me. What would Sophie say, I wonder?_

‘You a runaway?’ 

‘No, I just… I like circuses.' 

'We get a lot of runaways, y'know. They're trouble.' He stubbed out his cigarette. 

'No, I just need a job. Figured it's here, so why not? How long have you worked here?’ 

‘Long enough. I don’t know that we’re hiring. You should probably see the gaffer if you want a job.’ 

‘The circus manager. OK, thanks.’ 

‘Hey, howdja know that?’ 

‘I worked in a circus when I was younger, picked up the lingo.’ 

‘Yeah? As what?’ 

‘Artist. Performer.’ 

‘Huh. Any good?’ 

Parker shrugged. _Wanna be insular, huh? I’ll give you insular. You won’t find anybody more insular than Parker!_

‘Doesn’t seem to be a big crowd today,’ she remarked, looking around. 

‘Just got here. First matinee. Town's still at work; kids in school.’ 

‘Yeah, I guess.’ 

‘Whatcha name?’ 

‘Parker. Yours?’ 

‘Rusty.’ 

‘Rusty the Roustabout. That what they call you?’ 

Rusty grinned. ‘Naw, ‘cause o’this –‘ He took off his cap to reveal a blazing head of thick auburn hair. 

‘Suits you. Say, Rusty…if you don’t mind my asking, who takes care of the elephants?’ 

Rusty’s face closed down with distrust. _Damn, had him for a minute then I lost him,_ thought Parker. 

‘Now, you _said_ you was looking for a _job_ – what’re you - a reporter?’ 

‘No, Rusty, I’m not. But I’ll tell you what – I’m somebody who can help.’ 

‘Help? Help who? We don’t need no help 'round here.’ 

‘Yes, you do. We’re on the same page, I can see that, Rusty. I can see what’s going on. Look, I see you got trapeze but no wire walkers, right?’ 

‘Right.’ 

‘OK, I’m gonna go see the gaffer and ask him if he needs a wire walker – that's what I do - one that’ll bring in extra money so you can feed your stock better. That’s how I can help. Think he’ll be interested?’ 

‘If you don’t come at him with the ‘starving your stock’ angle, maybe. But I gotta warn ya – he’s a hard-assed bastard. Name’s Landry. Him and his cronies run the show around here. The rest of us don’t dare rattle our chains. We need our jobs too bad.’ 

‘If I get on board will you help me? You look like the kind of guy who likes kittens and puppies.’ 

Rusty suddenly grinned at her. 

‘Got that right, gal – only there’s a few here you don’t wanna mess with, y'know? It’s why the ones of us who care don’t even try. I've seen people thrown off trains…’ 

‘Can you tell me who those few are?’ 

‘One thing at a time, gal. You get the job and then we’ll talk. Until then you’re nothin' more'n a gilly – and I warn ya, you better be one hell of a funambulist.’ 

‘Believe me…you won’t believe your eyes,’ Parker said with a mysterious air.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parker has a plan to shut down a circus abusing its animals
> 
> By Soquilii and Rowingmaiden
> 
> Dedicated to the memory of Fidji

Parker left the circus boss’s office thinking Sophie would be proud of her. She’d actually pulled it off, convincing that rank, cigar-puffing three-hundred-pound huckster to let her audition for her act that very afternoon. While he seemed to like the idea of a fresh, new and thrilling act that would increase gate, she'd have to show him what she could do.

It was time for her audition. After checking the tension of the wire and the guy wires and rigging, she donned the mechanic. Now alone, forty feet in the air in a borrowed costume, she dusted her hands and the soles of her ballet shoes with resin and stepped out onto the wire - which was actually a thick cable. 

Standing below in scattered groups was a small audience, including the boss and some of the performers. She spotted Rusty by his flaming hair standing in the shadows. He had his fingers crossed! 

‘Wait!’ Mr. Landry yelled from below. ‘Ain’t you gonna use a balance pole?!’ 

‘Nope!’ she yelled back, her voice echoing against the roof of the tent. 

Mr. Landry watched in awe as Parker tested the cable, moving slowly out, step by step. It was at least as thick as half of her foot; she’d danced and twirled in and around many a laser beam with less space to maneuver. She stepped along confidently, arms raised gracefully for balance. Everyone on the ground had his eyes peeled on her as she suddenly bent forward, took the cable in her hands and hoisted herself over in a perfect arc, completing a somersault. She heard the intake of their breaths and soft murmuring; she had them in the palm of her hand. 

Grinning, again she took a few steps, almost dancing forward, then another forward somersault; then a third. On the next one, she somersaulted _backwards._ When she regained her feet the small group of observers cheered, then quieted to allow her to complete three more forward somersaults that took her to the opposite platform. 

The clapping and cheering thrilled Parker. It was the same kind of thrill she got from leaping off a skyscraper, hanging like a spider to burgle some office or high-rise apartment. 

She swiftly descended the rope and confronted Mr. Landry. 

‘What do you think?’ 

‘That was a hellova tryout, kid. I’ll let you know.’ 

He was trying to brush her off. Time to take it to the next level. ‘What would you say if I could get you a good knife-throwing act?’ 

‘Look, kid, I’m considering you – just you - I’m not shelling out extra for anything else.’ 

‘Two for the price of one,’ Parker stated flatly. 

He turned to face her. ‘What are you, some kinda idiot? Nobody works for that.’ 

‘It’s my old man. And I’m not kidding – we’ll work for one salary.’ Parker said, feeling a bit of a boost was needed. ‘He’s good. We both are. If your gate doubles or triples because you added us to your lineup, we’ll talk more money. Until then…’ 

‘I haven’t seen him perform.’ 

‘Well, you’ve seen what I can do. I can assure you, he’s a draw.’ 

Mr. Landry, undecided, stared at her a minute. Parker read his face. _He’s a gambler. He’s gonna do it. Now all I have to do is get Eliot and Hardison on board._

After a long pause, Mr. Landry caved. ‘One week's tryout. You got _one week_ starting with tonight’s performance. You both better be as good as you say.’ 

Parker gave him stare for stare. A week would be just about right. She nodded, turned and walked away. 

'One more thing,' Mr. Landry called after her. Parker turned to face him. 

'If I hire you, in addition to your act, count on being Chinese.' 

'Sure,' said Parker, hiding her confusion. What kind of makeup would make them look Chinese? If Eliot tied his hair back, he _maybe_ could be taken for Asian, but her? How would she manage a wig on the wire? 

On the way out she ran into Rusty. 'Hey, I thought you dug all the lingo,' he said in answer to her question. 

'Not _all_ of it!' she protested. 

'Landry doesn't want you to _look_ Chinese for your act, kid. That means extra jobs with no pay. Once you sign a contract, it calls for you to get paid for the wire and the knife act but trust me, he'll have you hauling water for the elephants at midnight. They call it _Chinese_ because Chinese laborers were abused like that building the railroads.' 

Parker nodded. 'See you later, Rusty.' 

'Good luck.' 

Parker left the circus grounds to return to headquarters. _We won't be here long enough to worry about all that,_ Parker thought gleefully. 

As Nate would undoubtedly have said…’Let’s go steal a circus.’ 

This was gonna be fun. 

~~~

‘I got us a job.’ 

‘You what?’ 

‘We got a job with the circus, Eliot; the one in town. We’re gonna perform.’ 

‘Hardison, can you come over here and translate?’ 

The gentle black man fatalistically shoved his chair back from his desk, rolling his eyes. The computer worm he was trying to write was never going to be completed, not at this rate. Parker and Eliot were butting heads much too frequently these days and he was tired of being the referee. 

‘What’d she say?’ he asked absently, half his mind still writing code. 

_‘Tell him!’_

Parker rolled her eyes and spoke slowly. ‘I said… I got us a job. Aren’t you interested?’ 

‘Where, Parker? Doing what?’ Hardison wanted to know. 

‘Performing in the circus. We’re gonna be stars! Like that movie.’ 

‘What movie, Parker?’ 

‘The one you showed me that time. With Charlton Heston. _Under the Big Top_ or something like that.’ 

‘You see what I’m talkin' 'bout man?’ Eliot almost yelled, waving his arms in the air. ‘Parker, I'm gonna say it again, there’s something _wrong_ with you. Either you start making sense or –‘ 

Hardison extended his hands toward Eliot. ‘Calm down, dude. Lemme talk to her. Hey, you know what? Writin' all that code makes me hungry – are there any fajitas left from that batch you made last night?’ 

‘Yeah, all right, I’m warm ‘em up. You… _talk_ to her,’ he said, stabbing a forefinger at Hardison. 

Hardison’s ploy to distract his friend worked. With Eliot in the kitchen out of the way, if not out of earshot, Hardison sat down with Parker and coaxed what information he could out of her. 

Once he had a better picture of her idea, the job and her plans for it actually made sense. This could be a takedown of epic proportions. Like the ValueMore job, they couldn’t shut down an entire store chain but they had succeeded in causing a frightful mess of just one location – to save jobs, to save a small town. A small, independently owned circus such as the one she was describing was right up their alley. To save animals this time. 

'Hey, you want pico de gallo or salsa?' Eliot yelled from the kitchen. 

'Both!' said Hardison and Parker together. 

'We got five tortillas left! Somebody's gonna have to have just one or use pita bread!' 

'That's ok, Eliot.' 

Hardison thought back over the years. His beloved Nana had never allowed pets in her crowded, noisy, orphan-infested household but it was only because she hadn’t the time nor the space. He grew up loving the pets of his friends and would often sneak a kitten to take home and sleep with – only to be told to take it back the next day. Hardison had never been around anything larger than a small dog but that didn’t mean a hippopotamus or a kangaroo or whatever it was Parker said they had wasn’t worth saving. 

It was a cause; a good cause. He even approved of her plan to be a wirewalker as long as she wore a safety line. 

His own part in it would be small but necessary. He was down with that; maybe he could get his code finished. 

‘OK I get what you’re gonna do for a circus act, but what did you have planned for Eliot?’ 

‘Knife thrower.’ 

‘Knife throwing at who?’ 

‘Why, me, of course. They don’t have either of those acts in their lineup.’ 

‘Uh…Eliot? Did you hear? Parker wants you to be a knife thrower. With her as the target. Think you could do that?’ 

Their hitter, in the middle of preparing the leftover fajitas, twirled and flipped the knife he was using. It made three complete revolutions before he caught it by the handle, took a split second to aim and stabbed the calendar hanging on the opposite wall, twenty feet away. Miss July now had a knife neatly stuck in her navel. 

He looked at Hardison, deadpan. ‘Yeah, I think I can do that.’ 

He walked over and retrieved the knife. It had scored through the sheetrock behind the calendar. Parker and Hardison watched in amused amazement as he sprinkled a little flour into his palm, spat on it, mixed it with his forefinger and daubed it into the scar on the wall. 

He hung the calendar back up and turned to face his friends, grinning. ‘Sorry, Parker… thought you was talkin' about running away with the circus. Sounds good. I’m in.’ 

‘Aw’ight! You’re the mastermind, Baby Girl…just tell us what to do,’ said Hardison.


	4. Chapter 4

Parker’s new custom-made circus costume fit her in a way that made Hardison and even Eliot do a double take as she walked into the room to model it for them. It was patterned after the outfit worn by a DC comics character. It accentuated her small bust and was cut high on the thighs. High red boots, wrist cuffs and a gold crown set in front of her blonde ponytail completed the outfit.

‘She looks like a flag, man!’ Eliot whispered to Hardison, but he couldn’t keep the gleam out of his eyes when he looked at her.

‘Whoo-ee, woman,’ said Hardison. You mean you gonna parade out there in front of all those people wearing that?’

‘I won’t be parading anywhere. I’ll be up on the wire.’

‘Are they gonna let you use a net?’ asked Eliot, in full protective mode as always.

‘Boss-man says no – has more impact that way.’

‘You ain’t kiddin’ about impact, Baby Girl. You just make sure he lets you use your rig!’

‘Relax, Hardison. He already approved it for insurance purposes, especially since I won't be using a balance pole. So… Eliot… was your costume delivered? It was shipped the same day as mine.’

Hardison’s face split in a wide grin. ‘What’d she get for you, Eliot? Superman? Batman? Hey, you’d almost match her with Captain America…oh, wait, no – I know – The Hulk!’

‘Have your fun, Hardison…have your fun.’ Eliot growled, pulling an invoice featuring a photo of the costume out of his pocket. ‘Here - see for yourself.’

Hardison’s face fell. ‘Seriously? Seriously. A pirate… with a gold earring. You gotta be kiddin’, man.'

‘Dammit…Hardison, it’s just a job!’

‘Jack Sparrow meets Wonder Woman. That’s a ‘shipper fic I’d like to read.’

‘Cut it out, man!’

Hardison looked again at the picture, milking the moment for all it was worth. ‘What, no little stuffed parrot for your shoulder?’

Eliot glared at him.

‘Ok, ok, so where's the knives?’

‘Ordered a set online made especially for trick throws. Weighted, with a very distinctive shape.’ He brought them out to show his partners.

‘Nice,’ said Hardison. You better practice with ‘em; don’t forget, you’re gonna be throwin’ ‘em at Parker.’

‘Don’t worry, man! Jeez, don’t you have any faith in me? Parker and me, we got it all worked out…special effects and everything. It’ll sell, don’t worry.’

'We got our crew lined up?

'All set and ready for when the time comes,' said Parker.

'Fast work. Good. Let’s go steal a circus.'

'Isn't Nate supposed to say that?'

'Parker!' Eliot hissed in frustration.

~~~~~

**FLASHBACK**

 

In the minds of the kinkers; fellow circus performers, Parker was no longer considered a gilly from the moment she was hired. She was a cirky like them. As she practiced her routine on the wire and became acquainted with the other artists, she gained their admiration and respect both for her skillful act and perky personality.  
As part of her overall plan, Parker had already spoken to local members of PETA and the ASPCA – to no avail. Both organizations had been willing to help, but unable. 

She said as much to her new friend Rusty as she treated him one evening to a hamburger dinner at a drive-in, away from the spying eyes and ears of the circus.

'I could have told you that,' said Rusty. 'We’ve gone practically under cover to contact both agencies; small animal rights groups, anybody who could maybe fix the situation but… we’re small… we’re privately owned… and we move around a lot. Jurisdictions get blurred, case overload, money, you name it, they got more excuses than Carter’s got oats and they just take too damn long to do anything. By the time they were ready to move on it, we moved. We finally just gave up.’ He sighed. ‘I guess some things just can't be fixed.'

Nervously, he fished in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter but put them away when the carhop delivered their dinner. Once they sorted out their orders and placed her coke and his beer in the cup holder, Parker spoke up.

'Rusty….' she said, taking her burger out of its wrapper, 'what would you say if I told you I could fix it? Me and my team, that is.'

'Team? What team? What the hell are you talking about?'

'I'm talking about fixing the circus. Getting the stock rescued, fed, taken care of… and you guys don’t get punished or lose your jobs…or from what I’ve heard, even your lives.'

'What are you, crazy?' he laughed. 'You - you don’t have any power.' Rusty nearly bent double with laughter. ‘You got a good act, girl, but man, that’s funny as hell! Just what is it you think you can do?!’

Parker frowned. 'Plenty, Rusty,’ she said. ‘The circus animals are suffering. Everyone’s too scared to do anything about it…that’s an enormous weight to bear. My team and I can provide… leverage.'

Rusty, still laughing, crammed an onion ring in his mouth and spoke around it. 'You are one crazy dame, you know that? If you have all this power, Wonder Woman of the Wire, just what do you plan to do?'

Parker washed a bite of hamburger down with a sip of her coke. 'Shut Landry down,' she said. 'It’s gonna take some planning and a lot of people. We don’t have a lot of time. I need your help. I have a few people but I need more. I need to you talk to the cirkys. You’ve known them longer than I have.’

‘More people?’ asked Rusty, mystified. 'How many we talking?'

‘Like for a private matinee, sort of like when Elvis used to rent an amusement park or a roller rink. Maybe a couple of hundred or more. More would be better. Just adults, no kids. Maybe like a company function. We could do it but I need your help. You game?'

Rusty took a swig of his beer and belched. 'Aw, hell, girl, I was born game, and hope to die in that condition. I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about, but lay it on me. There nothing I’d like better than to take down that bastard Landry.' He took a healthy bite out of his hamburger.

'Got anything against deception? Sleight of hand? Chucking the rules out the window?'

'Girl, how in the hell do you think circuses work, anyway? You said you worked for one.'

'Oh, yes, I know. I just need to be sure you have my back, Rusty. I can’t do this without you. Can I trust you?'

Rusty belched again, wiped his hand on his dirty jeans and held it out. Parker shook it. He had a strong, firm grip.

'Tell me what you need, Miss Parker. I'll do anything for you.'

Parker began to speak, lining out her plan.


	5. Chapter 5

'Come in,' Mr. Landry called to the gentle knock on his trailer door. 'Well if it isn't my new act, _Wonder Woman of the Wire!_ Come in, come in! Who's this with you?'

'Mr. Landry, I wanted to introduce you to the other half of your new act - _The Great Throwdini._ Knife artist.'

Eliot managed to stifle a groan at that name - which hadn't been his idea - and took the man's hand. He released first and quickly. Never had he felt a worse handshake; soft, sweaty hands with no grip. That alone told him everything he needed to know about the man.

Landry motioned them to sit on the couch. He leaned his fat rear against his desk and looked down at them.

_'The Great Throwdini,_ hm? Good name. Good to meet you. This young lady here has proven her worth, and she vouches for you, but I'm a businessman; I'd like to actually see what you can do. You understand. If you're anywhere near as good with knives as she is on the wire, you're hired.'

'How about a demonstration now?' Eliot suggested, surreptitiously wiping his hand on his jeans.

'Suits me fine. You got a costume, I hope, because I won't let you appear in what you've got on. You look like a bum.'

Eliot, garbed in his usual knit cap, fingerless gloves and hem-ragged jeans, nodded brusquely.

'OK, then. The evening performance doesn't start for a couple of hours; Girlie, you're scheduled to appear at nine, don't forget. If you're any good, you'll follow her - the last act. Shall we?' Landry opened the door to his trailer and motioned them toward the Big Top.

Inside, Rusty had set up a table for Eliot's knives and other paraphernalia, along with a board with various targets attached which stood at an angle thirty feet away. Balloons, plastic coins and a small bull's eye covered its surface. Eliot strolled confidently up to the table and flexed his shoulders. He picked up the knives, one by one, and sliced a sheet of paper to ribbons with them as a demonstration.

Then, almost faster than Landry's eye could follow, he flipped each knife in midair, caught and threw it. The seven balloons on the target board popped, one by one.

Rusty dutifully retrieved the knives and returned them to Eliot, who followed with an astonishing repertoire of moves that included juggling, flipping, throwing backward using a mirror and, astonishingly, throwing underhand, palming three knives in each hand at the board, each landing in a row on the perimeter. When the demonstration was complete, not one item on the target board had been missed and not one knife was off its target.

As a finish to the act, Eliot bowed and styled in a dignified manner to a nonexistent audience. He looked as if he'd been performing all his life.

'Bravo!' Mr. Landry yelled over and over, applauding madly. 'My God, I've never seen anything like you! Amazing! You're hired!'

Eliot merely nodded at Landry. He turned his back and took the knives from Rusty, folding them into a pouch to be sharpened later. 'Thanks, man,' he said, sotto voce, to Rusty.

'Man, that was fucking _awesome!'_ Rusty whispered back. Eliot grinned.

Landry had turned and started out of the tent. Parker ran after him. 'Uh, Mr. Landry, I wanted to know if we still have a week's worth of tryouts. A whole week.'

'Based on what I've seen, yes, you do. In fact, if all goes as well as I think it will, I'll be drawing up a contract for the two of you by the end of the week. Gonna love having you with us, sweetheart!' he said, putting his arm around Parker's waist. She recoiled from his uninvited cuddle. The man was mushy and sweaty and smelly; she deftly wormed out of his embrace. Instead, she faced him, stepping lightly backward.

Behind them, Eliot followed, scowling, watching the fat, greasy huckster like a hawk. If he made another move on Parker, the deal was off, because he'd kill the son of a bitch with his bare hands.

'So,' Parker said, 'after tonight we work the matinee and evening performance the rest of the week?'

'That's the schedule, doll.'

'Just want to make sure we get plenty of practice time in. Thanks!' Parker gestured a thumbs up to Eliot bringing up the rear. Landry turned and looked at him.

'Your old man's not too friendly, is he?'

'Oh, that's just the way he is. Grouchy. Gotta get to know him.'

'Uh huh. Whatever. You're lined up last after the trapeze. Be on time tonight.'  


~~~~~

  
The evening's performance as usual, began with the Grand Entry and the single ring in the center gave itself over to the various acts. Acrobats twirled through rings, over bars and balanced on bicycles. Pole dancers in dragon costumes, jugglers and fire breathers and sword swallowers followed. The trained dogs, goats, llamas and kangaroos performed admirably and got the best crowd reaction after the clown antics interspersed with the rest of it. The elephant act was next; only two adults and the calf performed. Parker, waiting in the wings, could only assume the others were either ill or had perhaps already succumbed. These animals were an investment; why wouldn't they be protected as such?

A short intermission ensued.

When the show began again, bareback riders circled the ring with balancing stunts. They were rather unspectacular however, generating only slight applause; the audience had taken note of the prominent ribs; the horses performed dutifully; mechanically. One individual actually stood up and yelled, inciting a few other negative comments from the stands:

_'Hey! Why don't you feed them horses?!'_

The ringmaster, taking the cue, closed the act prematurely and brought the clowns back out. They enlivened the crowd for the big cat cage and trapeze acts. Parker and Eliot would be next.

Parker had honed her act and added a segment: first a few steps of wire walking combined with seven somersaults then somersaulting the entire distance of the wire. In the center she paused with a handstand that she held for one minute before completing the flip sequence. Careful lighting hid the thin rig cable that was attached to the back of her belt; it looked as if she had no safety device of any kind. The crowd went wild after she regained the ground, descending the rope ladder like a monkey.

'Looks like you have a fall-back career, Parker,' Eliot whispered in her ear, grinning.

As the announcer called for the last act, he asked the audience be very quiet for the death defying performance to follow.

Eliot, in full costume with attitude to match, stiffly bowed when he entered the tent. He approached the ring and took his place at the small table laid with his equipment. He turned to face all four sides of the tent, one arm held high, in a bid for applause. The crowd, not knowing what to expect, clapped courteously.

Eliot displayed his target knives, spread like playing cards in his hands. He took up the piece of paper on the table and reduced it to ribbons, slicing with each knife. A concerted 'Oooh!' went up from the crowd.

The target board had been replaced with a larger one, gaily decorated with the words _The Great Throwdini_ painted on the top. The board reclined backward slightly and was equipped with a footrest so Parker could just lean against it. The first part of the act consisted of Eliot doing fancy throws at balloons and five small bulls-eye targets painted on the board. His unique style of flipping the knives before deftly catching and throwing them brought thunderous applause.

With the appropriately thrilling circus muzak and drum roll blaring from the speakers, Parker took her place on the board, holding two balloons out to the side, with a balloon tied above her head and one between her knees.

_That damn drum roll is irritating as hell,_ thought Eliot. Tuning it out, he flipped once in the air and popped the balloon at Parker's head. The next two knives were flipped twice, simultaneously, and burst the ones she was holding in each hand. Eliot paused for dramatic effect, flipped the knife three times and the yellow balloon between her knees disintegrated.

There was thunderous applause.

Striding up to the target board, Eliot whispered to Parker. 'You ok?'

She winked at him, smiling.

'Ready for the big one?'

'Ready.'

He stepped back to the table and picked up six knives, three in each hand, again spread like playing cards. His stance was almost that of a bowler's. His eyes never left Parker's as he swung both arms back, stepped forcefully forward and simultaneously brought both hands forward in an arc, throwing underhand with a spiraling motion at the wrist. The result was three knives spaced fairly evenly on each side of the board on which Parker lay, at the level of shoulder, waist and hip. They had missed her by inches. The finale was the last knife, the largest one, spun in the air like a baton, caught and sent to imbed itself in the wood above Parker's head.

As the applause sounded even louder, Parker stepped down away from the knives surrounding her. Eliot gallantly handed her to the center of the ring where they took their bows. To the right of the tent, to the left, center and back, they bowed again and again. The crowd liked their combination act so much they were clapping madly, screaming and throwing confetti, tickets, stale popcorn, whatever they could find toward the performers.

Parker was grinning from ear to ear and even Eliot felt a thrill, realizing now why circus people bore the daily grind and hardships they suffered week in and week out, traveling from town to town, suffering sprains and sometimes broken bones in the pursuit of their unique craft. Those few seconds of worship and adoration made it all worthwhile.

The applause died down. The announcer called the end of the show just as Parker and Eliot left the ring and headed toward the tent door.

Landry, standing in the wings, congratulated them. 'Great show, kids. You've proved your worth. Get dinner in the cookhouse now, and bed down. See you at the matinee tomorrow.'  


~~~~~

  
Landry watched them leave, arm in arm, and remained to see the tent emptied. For a few minutes it was quiet... then the noise started up again as the roustabouts went about their chores of packing up for the night. Landry walked over to his office on wheels where the ticket taker was counting the night's receipts.

'How'd we do, Lou?'

'Surpassed the last two nights and I ain't even through countin' yet!' he said, thumbing bills. He'd been tallying circus gate receipts for so long he could carry on a bright conversation without losing count. 'Who in hell was that you added to the lineup? It's gotta be them to account for all this money!'

'I hired me a gold mine, Lou…a goddamn gold mine. All's I gotta do is figure out how to pay 'em peanuts and perks and keep most of the gold for us.'

Lou laughed. 'You'll never change, Landry. But I appreciate that. I'm getting' fat right 'longside ya.'

'Just keep your mouth shut, all right? You'll get your cut as usual. Just shut up about it.'

'You got it…' Lou broke off as he watched Landry walk down the steps back to his own trailer. …'Boss,' he finished, shaking his head. The fat bastard was crookeder than a dog's hind leg but he'd made it possible for Lou and the rest of the gang to build quite a nest egg over the last few years. Operating at bare minimum and pocketing the proceeds. Wasn't that how Corporate America worked? Hell, they were just keeping up with the times.

Lou smiled to himself as he continued to count. Compared to the old days, this was high cotton. Real high cotton.


	6. Chapter 6

Eliot's normal routine in his role as the team's hitter was to keep in shape. To this end he ran each day, did bag work, sprints, shadow boxing, squats and power lifts. Here at the circus, knife throwing was going to require more pushups and finger weights than usual as well as regular throwing practice. He was working out in the shade of a tree the morning after his first performance, well into a set of fifty pushups, his long hair held back by a bandana.

Last night's performance had gone exceptionally well, but since he was aiming at Parker, he wanted to be at the very top of his game. If he so much as lopped off a lock of her hair he knew Hardison would be after him. Not to fight - Hardison was hardly competition - but the geek genius would find some method of payback; maybe by injecting him with mind-destroying nanites in his sleep, if such things existed.

A crowd of cirkys - circus people - had gathered, watching him. Among them was the troupe's big, bald, Greek strongman, Kostas Thanatos, who watched Eliot switch from army style to one-armed pushups and back. He began pointing and laughing, encouraging his cronies to follow suit. Eliot tuned him out until he'd finished his reps, got to his feet, grabbed a towel off a low tree limb and mopped his face. He gave the crowd only a neutral glance as he attempted to pass. The cirkys formed a line on each side of the Greek giant, who shoved him back.

'You… work out… too easy,' he said in broken English. 'You weak American.'

'Think so, huh?' Eliot attempted again to break through the human chain. Again, Kostas shoved him back. Irritated, Eliot regained his stance and held his ground. The giant advanced toward him.

'You wanna have a go at me, don't you?'

The giant nodded.

'Ok, how y’feel about wrestling?'

'I fight you with fist,' the giant growled menacingly, waving his enormous clenched fists in Eliot's face.

'Fist, huh? OK,' said Eliot nonchalantly, as if they were just a couple of schoolboys on the playground divvying up marbles, 'we pick which way we fight. Fisticuffs or wrestling. Me, I'm for wrestling.' Eliot extended his palm and pounded it three times with his fist. Baffled, the giant looked down at Eliot.

'What that? I thought we fight! What this you do?!'

'This is the way we decide how you're gonna pulverize me. That's what you wanna do, isn't it? So pick. See, like this.' He patiently showed the man rock-paper-scissors, thinking how Hardison always had a tell. Most people had a tell. A novice like this man would be a cinch.  
'See, paper covers rock, paper wins. Scissors cut paper, scissors wins. Rock smashes scissors, rock wins. Now if I win the round, we wrestle. If you win, we fight your way. Got it?'

Eliot quickly scanned the crowd. He'd captured their interest, maybe even their support. He could see it in their eyes. He refrained from grinning and returned to the matter at hand. Only a little less confused, the giant nodded.

'Look, we'll do a practice run. Now, this ain't the deciding vote, this is just for practice. OK?'

Kostas grunted his approval. He extended his hand and waited for Eliot's signal, eyes on his opponent's hand. Eliot watched the other man's eyes.

'Ready, one-two-three.' Bam-bam-bam -- Eliot made a fist at the same time Kostas extended two fingers. 'OK, I won that one. My rock beats your scissors. See how easy? Now we go for the kill. Ready?'

'I ready. Kill, right. I win… I kill you.'

'We'll see. All right, here we go.' Bam-bam-bam -- Eliot held his hand flat. Following Eliot's prediction, Kostas's hand closed into a fist. At the practice round, Kostas's eyes had flickered and Eliot knew the man was going for the same tactic he himself had deployed, figuring it to be a logical move. Eliot closed his fingers as far over the giant's massive hand as he could and stared the big man in the face.

'Wrestling it is,' said Eliot in a deceptively smooth voice.

In a split second, Eliot moved into a classic duck-under, startling his opponent, pulling him off balance by a hand on the back of his neck and sending him down. Suddenly, the giant was on his stomach in the dirt and Eliot was mounted on his back like a bullrider, gaining control of the arms at the shoulder joint with a double chickenwing, a controlling hold used by policemen to subdue uncooperative persons. As the man struggled, Eliot brought a knee up and pressed it hard into the small of his back. He felt the vertebrae grind as he applied more pressure, causing the man to grunt in pain.

'Forgot to tell ya - in wrestling, you get enough; you tap out,' advised Eliot. 'Oh, wait… tsk… naw, you can't, can you, ‘cause I got your arms, man. My… my bad. Well, you're gonna have to just tell me when you've had enough.'

The man grunted and groaned. His face was being ground into the dirt and he kept having to blow particles out of his nose, raising small clouds of dust when he did so. His massive legs were incapable of agility and flexibility; they were stolid tree trunks whose sole purpose was to hold up massive amounts of weight. As strong as he was, Kostas couldn’t break free because his shoulder joints were isolated, and the pain in his back was becoming unbearable. He was seriously out of his league. He could hear the crowd around him. Despite loss of dignity and the respect of his peers, he was going to have to surrender. He'd misjudged this American gilly who barely came up to his shoulder. It was getting hard to breathe. What were the English words? He couldn't remember them!

'Stasi! Ta paratao! TA PARATAO!!' {Stop! I give up!}

'Anybody… know what he's sayin'?' Eliot panted.

The circus's only Little Person, a man of about forty, wormed his way out of the crowd where he'd been watching from between everyone’s legs. Impressed, he came forward.

'Gee, man, you're pretty good. With the knife act and with this. Jeez, I'd shake your hand but you look at little busy. Gotta thank ya, though, this guy's a bully. I don't reckon he'll be bothering you or anybody else around here after this. What say, Kostas? You give up?'

That was the word! 'Yes, yes, give up. I give up,' Kostas groaned.

'Beat you fair and square. No hard feelings?' asked Eliot. He didn't want to release the man only to have him charge him or the crowd like a mad bull. Kostas wouldn’t be falling for such tactics again and Eliot knew the man could break his back over his knee if given the chance.

'No… no… you win. You beat. Fair. I not… I not kill you.' he said breathlessly. His lips were tinged blue and he whimpered in pain.

Eliot suddenly released his hold and stood back, on the alert, not entirely sure if the man would keep his word.

The giant sat up, coughed and rubbed at the dirt on his face. Eliot courteously handed him the towel. After he scrubbed his face and took some deep breaths, he got to his feet and surprised Eliot by holding out a massive hand. Eliot shook it, or rather, shook with it, because the giant pumped his arm hard enough to almost lift him off his feet. 

'Mou areseis,' he said. 'Eiste enas kalos machitis!' {I like you - you're a good fighter.} He slapped Eliot on the back. Eliot cuffed the giant's shoulder and grinned at him. They parted amiably. Kostas wandered off, probably to find solace in the shower. A mixture of dirt and sweat had coated him with mud.

The dwarf looked up at Eliot. 'New to the circus, aren't you? A gilly.'

Eliot nodded.

'I could tell. There's bullies everywhere. We cirkys stick together - but there's one in every crowd.'

'Tell me about it,' said Eliot.

'You got a good act. Hope you stick with us.'

'Thanks,' said Eliot.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Landry swaggered outside his trailer, puffing his cigar. He felt like the lord of all creation. The tally from last night's performance was in: nearly triple their usual gate receipts. Signing on those new acts had been a good move. _By rights, acts at that level of ability should be with Ringling,_ he was thinking, _but damned if I'll suggest it. Outfit like mine needs a boost._

He had started off toward the cookhouse for some breakfast when a white Cadillac came barreling in, raising a cloud of dust. It pulled up not far from where Landry was standing. There emerged from the driver's seat a young, tall black man wearing a long, white gandurah which billowed in the wind and a flapping keffiyeh held in place by a red striped agal on his head. He stood looking around, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of early morning circus activity, smiling to himself. He turned and spotted Landry and raised his hand in greeting.

Landry looked around, not entirely sure if the young man meant him. When it became clear that he did, Landry raised his hand uncertainly.

The young man trotted up to him. ‘Greetings!' he exclaimed in a thick Arabian accent. 'Might I inquire of the whereabouts of the owner of this enjoyable establishment?’

‘Uh, yeah…you’re lookin’ at him.’

‘Oh, I am so pleased! I did not know that I would ever find you so easily! Let me introduce myself. My name is Abdullah ib Jabreen. I came all the way to the United States from Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. You know Dubai? I would like to talk business with you if you have the time.’

‘Well, actually, I was just going to breakfast.’

‘Oh, might I accompany you? I would like a taste of real American coffee; perhaps a donut.’

‘Suit yourself.’

The cookhouse was small but clean, and its ambience was pure circus. The aromas of breakfast were mixed with the odors of resin, leather, perfumes and sweat. Performers, animal trainers and roustabouts chatted boisterously while they ate. The young man known as ib Jabreen looked around in awe; seemingly star-struck and uncertain at the same time. No doubt he had never ventured anywhere near a circus cookhouse. He watched his companion as Landry took a small tray and plastic ware to the cafeteria-style bar and requested a plate of scrambled eggs with bacon, a sausage patty, a biscuit and a cup of black coffee.

‘Get what you want,’ Landry said grudgingly to the young man. ‘It’s on me.’

‘Why, thank you,’ replied ib Jabreen. He only requested a small mound of eggs, a biscuit and a coffee.

'No bacon? Sausage?' asked Landry. 'Oh…that's right. Sorry.'

'This is sufficient, thank you.'

The young Arab followed his benefactor to one of the outdoor picnic tables.

‘If you wanna talk business like you said, best to do it out here where we can hear ourselves think,’ Landry said. ‘might have to deal with a fly or two,’ he continued, brushing one away.

‘Yes, well, it looks delicious.’

‘So what brings you to the United States, and more particularly, here… to this town… to our circus?’

‘I will tell you.' The man's incredibly white teeth flashed in a grin. 'I am the personal assistant to his Majesty, the Crown Prince Sheikh Al Maktoum. He is, ah, as you say, a young man of unique tastes. He wishes to build something along the lines of what your Michael Jackson once had – what did he call it? Neverland?’

‘Huh. Just how old is this prince of yours?’

‘Oh, he is in his thirties to be sure, about my age. However, he is, ah, how you say, young at heart?’

‘Yeah, go on.'

‘So… he has built a small offshore island next to Atlantis and The Palm. It is for a very special project dear to his heart.'

'And what is that? Will you get to the point?'

'Ah, forgive me. I will come right out and say it. He wants to buy your circus!'

Landry just stared at him.

'Truthfully, equipment, animals, acts and everything. If your employees do not wish to move to Dubai we can replace them but we must have the tent, equipment, animals… everything else. The Prince wants to set it up on the island for his own pleasure. The only audience would be relatives, close friends and other associates; not for the public.’

'Are you kidding me?'

'No, no, I am quite serious. His Majesty wants his own personal circus!'

'How much is he willing to pay?'

'Well, that is a delicate issue, to be sure. I realize your… ah… outfit?... is not the largest of its kind in America; the Prince naturally does not want to buy anything of that size. He is interested only in a small independent circus such as yours. He is willing to offer $200,000 American dollars.'

Landry just stared at him. 'I can't sell out for that.'

'His Highness researched your overhead and ticket sales. What do you call it? Gate? He feels this is more than generous.'

Landry let out a short laugh. 'Tell your highness he's delusional.'

Ib Jabreen disregarded the rude remark and placed the tips of his fingers together. 'You… appear to be struggling,' he said tactfully.

Landry stared at him. 'Tell your king or minister or whatever, tell him I’m not interested in selling. Maybe last season, but not now. That's final.'

Ib Jabreen’s face fell. 'I so hoped…'

'Well, go hope someplace else. Sorry you made the trip for nothing. Hey, maybe somebody else will sell. I hear Janovski's is closing. His circus is playing its last weeks in Oklahoma.’ Landry scribbled on a notepad, tore off the sheet and handed it to him. ‘Here. This is good for a free ticket to tonight’s performance. Better'n nothing.'

'This was the circus he wanted. I do not know how I will ever tell His Majesty I have failed. Will you not reconsider?'

'Like I said, _Abdul_ , have a nice trip back.'

Ib Jabreen ignored the slur and made one last attempt. 'I will be here for a few days, in case you change your mind. My card.'

Landry accepted the card but shook his head. 'Don’t hold your breath.'

Ib Jabreen sighed. He finished his coffee and left the cookhouse. Back in the privacy of the limousine, he communicated with Eliot and Parker through the earbuds: _'Phase Four complete.'_


	8. Chapter 8

Getting enough warm bodies for the con had been the toughest part of the job and unfortunately, Sophie’s theater group wasn’t available. Still, the number of people Parker managed to assemble exceeded her expectations. She convinced members of PETA, the ASPCA and the local Animal Welfare League to participate in a clandestine operation to help her shut down the circus. Her plan was met with enthusiasm by all; they were willing and even eager to perform for an ‘adult only company function’ and agreed to go along with whatever they saw happen in the ring - with the assurance that it was just an act - a ploy to wrest control of the show from its unscrupulous owner and his gang.

Parker also had a powerful ally in Rusty, who moved among the circus people, gaining their support. It was as much for their benefit as the circus stock, he told them, and if they cooperated, they’d still be employed by the time it was all over. He assembled those he could trust late one night behind the same hamburger joint he and Parker frequented.

‘Listen, guys, we gotta keep this among ourselves. If Landry and his gang get so much as a whiff of what we’re doing, we’re sunk…and so are the stock. Are you with me?’

‘You’re saying this girl Parker can save the circus? Get rid of Landry?’

‘That’s what I’m saying.’

‘How?!’

‘Wait and see,’ said Rusty, grinning. ‘Come on. Have I let you down yet?’

Parker made arrangements with Landry for the special matinee performance and purchased a block of tickets, a nearly sold-out crowd that pleased Parker no end, not to mention Landry, who anticipated a windfall.

Meanwhile, Hardison had hacked the local newspapers. Posing as a circus rep, he took out full page ads and posted online notices that the show would be closed to the general public for that particular matinee performance. He prepared yellow photo ID badges for those holding tickets and hired security to keep anyone without a badge out. Circus personnel including the vendors would have red badges while management - Landry and his group - would be designated black.

Hardison coached Parker on the focal part she would enact when the time came. 'Underplay it,' he said, 'but sell it. The audience has been coached for their part but Landry and his gang have to buy it, lock, stock and barrel. Be like all scared, in shock and dying, but don't scream. Dying people don’t scream. It’s gotta look real and really freak Landry out. Got it?'

'Got it. Did you make enough fake blood? We’re gonna need a lot of it. Some in balloons.'

'I certainly did. Corn syrup, glycerin and food coloring. Got the recipe off the 'net. Damn stuff looked so real I threw up in my mouth a little.'

Parker just shrugged. Hardison was always throwing up in his mouth at little. It grossed her out.

Hardison was goaded. 'You know… you know what, Parker… you just like Nate and Sophie. Eliot, too. Ya'll have no idea what I go through for this team, no idea at all!' Hardison sulked.

~~~~~

The morning of the matinee dawned to find everything set and ready to go. At the specified time, about two in the afternoon, the assembled crowd presented their tickets, showed their badges, and took their seats on the benches, chattering excitedly to each other and buying popcorn, peanuts and drinks from the vendors.

The show began; the usual acts followed in sequence. The crowd got a good look at what Parker had been trying to tell them. The many emaciated, exhausted animals was all the evidence they needed to start a low, angry rumble. Parker and Rusty looked at each other in alarm. Moving clandestinely through the stands and talking to key people who spread the word, they cautioned the group not to react but to remember to play along. The atmosphere had improved by the time Landry stepped into the wings to watch the show.

Finally it was time for Parker’s act on the high wire. As she stepped out onto the cable to perform for the last time, she felt a sense of loss. She had enjoyed being a circus performer; it was going to be hard to let it go. Then, with the resolve that was uniquely Parker's, she shrugged off the sentiment and began her journey cartwheeling across the cable. Besides, it was no time to dwell on anything else but the job. The fun part was just beginning.

Parker dismounted the cable and lowered herself to the ground amid thunderous applause. She took her bows before returning to her dressing room to prepare for the finale. The announcer stepped to the center of the ring as the roustabouts, Rusty included, assembled Eliot's target board, table and knives.

'Ladies and Gentlemen!' he barked. 'Direct your eyes to the center of the ring to witness the skills, the thrills, the chills of …' Eliot in full costume made his entrance and the announcer finished with a flourish: '… _The Great Throwdini!_ '

After the applause died down a hush fell over the crowd as they waited expectantly. Circus muzak wafted softly from the speakers. Eliot marched to the gaudily draped table, on which was laid the knives he would use in the act. Those in the higher seats could see the shiny blades, some small, one large, and many smaller, curiously gray, rubbery looking knives.

Eliot slowly took the largest knife and held it up. He studied it a long moment, then sliced the paper as he had done previously to demonstrate the utensil's sharpness. The recorded muzak continued while he stared at the bits of paper on the ground. Minutes passed as he continued to stare at the ground, as if in a trance.

Landry was watching from the wings. 'What's _with_ this guy tonight?' he asked one of his cronies standing nearby. The man shrugged.

Eliot, knife in hand, finally raised his eyes from the ground and looked at the crowd. He did a slow, complete turn, eyes searching the crowd as if he was looking for someone in particular. A young woman, perhaps forgetting her part for a moment, giggled audibly. Eliot caught her eye and stared her down, his fierce expression generating ripples of murmurs through the crowd.

Eliot signaled the announcer to kill the music and set up the drumroll. He turned his attention to the table, set down the large knife, picked up a smaller one and sighted the target board.

It was time.

As in previous performances, Eliot flipped the knives and hit all the targets perfectly, but his overall behavior was worrisome to Landry, who was still watching him. Something wasn't right. He couldn't quite put a finger on it however, so he allowed the performance to continue. It had been his experience that some performers were quirky; perhaps this was only a manifestation of that strange behavior.

After the last target was demolished, Rusty came forward to reconfigure the target board. Eliot called for Parker, his assistant, and escorted her to the board to position her for the finale. Parker leaned back on the board, completely surrounded by small red balloons.

'Parker - did you test that prop?' he whispered softly in her ear.

‘Yes,’ Parker said, barely moving her lips. She raised her eyebrows as a signal. It was a go.

'All set?' whispered Eliot to Rusty.

'All set. Good luck,' Rusty whispered back.

'It ain't luck, man. It's what we do.' Eliot winked at Parker, who winked back.

Rusty ran for the wings, suppressing a grin. Eliot remained in character, staring fiercely at Parker.

He wheeled about and stalked back to the table where he seemed to be searching for a particular knife. He chose one, cast a sidelong glance up at Parker, straightened, flipped the knife and threw it. The balloon at her head burst. After the appropriate noises from the crowd died down, he dispatched the balloons near her hands and along her sides in the same dramatic way. There was one balloon left, between Parker's knees.

Eliot hesitated as if he wasn't sure what he wanted to do, turning this way and that in an undecided manner. He stalked up to Parker and stared at her fiercely, shaking his head, gesturing and muttering. The circus muzak was drowning out what he was saying. He shook his fist at her, chest heaving in apparent rage.

'What the hell is that, part of the act?' asked the announcer.

'Probably,' said Landry, looking at his watch. The knife act was taking too long. He'd give _Throwdini_ an earful later; for now all he could do was bide his time; interfering with the act at all might affect tomorrow’s gate. Landry couldn't make out what the man was saying. The girl must have done something to piss him off.

To Landry's relief, Eliot turned and stalked back to the table. He picked up the last knife…flipped it the usual three times…and sent the weapon slicing through the air at its target...


	9. Chapter 9

The hushed intake of nearly five hundred breaths broke the silence. All eyes had been trained on Eliot's knife, but now Parker became the focus of their attention as the spotlight fell upon her, leaning against the target board. Her mouth was open and her eyes wide with shock. She frowned and slowly glanced down at the knife protruding from her navel. Blood was seeping forth, running in narrow rivulets to the floor. She wriggled her arms out of the loose bindings and shakily reached for the knife as if to pull it out.

The crowd reacted with stunned silence. From the wings, Rusty yelled at the top of his lungs, 'Miss Parker!! Don't touch it!! You'll bleed out!!' His booming voice could be heard all over the tent but his warning was unnecessary. Parker's hands fell to her sides as her body went limp. Slowly, eerily, she turned her head in Landry's direction, her eyes still open, staring ghoulishly at him. Landry stood as if transfixed, unable to react or move, as the crowd began screaming.

No one noticed Eliot swaggering in the center ring, still armed with a tableful of small gray knives. Like a madman, he suddenly picked them up one by one and began hurling them into the crowd. The screams grew louder; panic ensued; several people fell. Those who ran were smeared with blood. Landry remained frozen in shock. All around him, the bleachers screeched and groaned as the crowd became a screaming stampede of bodies. Some attempted to sidestep along the bench risers, some simply used them for steps, foregoing the stair aisle which was jammed with people trying madly to escape the knife-wielding assassin.

Landry's unlit cigar fell from his numbed mouth; the announcer began screaming into the microphone, attempting to verbally control an uncontrollable crowd. In the ring, Eliot kept hurling projectiles. Eventually only one large knife remained on the table. He picked it up and displayed it defiantly. No one dared approach him, armed or otherwise. No one interfered as he calmly surveyed the scene of utter destruction he had created. He held the knife high, turning in a slow circle. Suddenly he knelt, forcefully stabbed the big knife into the ground and stalked out of the tent.

Rusty came running from the wings. 'Miss Parker! Miss Parker!' he screamed. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. 'I'm dialing 911!' he yelled loudly. He lifted Parker off the board. Cradling her in his arms, he stumbled out of the tent, which was emptying fast.

A man in a business suit on his way out spotted Landry and the announcer, huddled together in the center of the tent, muttering and waving their arms helplessly; unable to believe what had just transpired. It was total carnage. Blood dripped down the risers; trails of it could be seen pooling on the ground where people had stumbled outside to escape certain death at the hands of an apparent madman.

The man stumbled up to the circus owner. He was sweaty, shaking, and his suit was splotched with blood.

'Sir,' he said in a breathless, quavering voice, apparently in shock. 'Are you… the owner… of this… circus?'

Landry, eyes wide, nodded slowly. He looked ready to drop in his tracks. The announcer had run to the wings to escape the scene but he was suddenly overwhelmed with nausea. He clung to a tent support, bent over and heaving.

'I'm… a lawyer,' the man continued, still panting. 'My wife was hit. If she…if she dies… even if she doesn't…I'm going to sue you for every… dime I can get out of you. Wrongful… death. Negligence. In fact… there were enough people here tonight… for me to… organize a class action suit against you and that knife act you hired. Best you find an attorney!'

Holding his chest as if he was having a coronary, the man stumbled off, leaving Landry at a loss for words.

~~~~~

Landry stumbled out of the empty arena, passing a very sick announcer, still gagging, holding to the support pole for dear life.

'Hurry up and get done with that,' he growled. 'Get my men together. Bring 'em to my trailer.'

'Aren't…aren't you gonna try to catch that guy? See about the casualties? Shouldn't you at least do that?'

'No,' he said shortly. 'Hurry the hell up.'

Parker had swiftly changed to her usual jumpsuit. Now, hidden behind a fold of curtain, she grinned to herself. This was a helpful development. Nabbing the bad guys had been problematic at best, even with black badge identification, but if they were going to be so accommodating, she was ready with a plan. _Locking the fish in the barrel makes it easier to shoot 'em._

The circus announcer spat and coughed and hacked another few minutes before he straightened up, sighed, and stumbled out of the tent. He rounded up Landry's men and obediently herded them toward the trailer. Parker slithered after them like a black-clad wraith.

~~~~~

Inside his trailer, Landry wiped his sweaty face on a towel and sat down heavily at his desk. In the bottom drawer was a bottle of Patron. Now was no time for a properly salted glass; he popped the cork and raised the bottle to his lips. The liquor burned all the way down; he waited for it to calm his shattered nerves, to allow him to think, but the effect was slow in coming; his thoughts were a jumble. _Lawsuits…wrongful death…would he go to jail just because one of his performers had blown a gasket? Hell, he hadn’t caused all that carnage! How many were dead, anyway? How many lawsuits? Class action…_ On the tail of these panicked thoughts came horrifying visions of Parker's dead eyes staring at him…

Wailing in the distance, the undulating screams of ambulances and police cars pierced the night.

Landry's men, followed by the still-shaking, sweating circus announcer, entered the trailer one by one as ordered. They, too, had witnessed the bloody carnage but hadn't felt sufficiently motivated to risk life and limb in order to intervene. They milled in front of Landry's desk, talking among themselves. Landry's throat had ceased to burn with liberal applications of Patron and his shaking had ceased. He spoke with authority.

'Everybody sit down and shut up!'

Conversely, they continued to babble, berating Landry for hiring the act, threatening to walk out, asking him what he intended to do now.

'If you'll all shut the hell up, I'll tell you. _We're gonna cut and run._ You can all go your separate ways if you want. I don't care. Me, I'm gettin' out of the circus business…tonight.'

'We're not leaving without getting paid, Landry. You owe everybody here two weeks.'

'Tonight's gate will more than cover it.' Landry withdrew the lockbox from under the desk and opened it. 'Here. Divide it amongst yourselves. I gotta see a man about a dog.'

The men set to work evenly dividing the bills on the small coffee table. Landry slipped into the small bathroom and took his cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed ib Jabreen's number, hoping the raghead bastard hadn't yet left for Dubai. The men could have the gate receipts. He'd come out way ahead with the sale of the circus.

No one saw or heard Parker stealthily approach the trailer. She circled it to ensure there was no rear exit, then closed the steel lockbar over the door and silently clicked her six-ton Granit padlock into place. 'Fish in a barrel,' she mouthed silently, pleased with herself.

She hurried back to the tent organize her group. There was still a lot to do.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parker wraps up operations to save the circus; Rusty is in for a surprise
> 
> Apologies for the delay in getting this last chapter out. Hope you enjoy it.

Rusty led the police officers down a row of starved, abused circus animals, some in cages, some tethered. A representative of the ASPCA was on hand to make notes and take photographs.

‘Who’s responsible for this, son?’ a police sergeant asked Rusty, gruffly.

‘The owners, sir … the boss and his group of henchmen. I, uh, arranged to have them meet in one place if you want to take them into custody,’ said Rusty, grinning.

’Oh yeah? How’d you manage that?’

Rusty gestured to the cirkys who were milling around. ‘All of us who work this circus helped. We were fed up, sir, and the situation was getting worse. So … they’re in that trailer,’ he gestured toward the small structure beyond, which seemed to be rocking slightly from the motion of several men inside attempting to get out. Rusty handed Parker's lock key to the sergeant. ‘I don’t know if they’re armed or not…but I wouldn’t take any chances.’

‘Noted. You’re bringing formal charges against them?’

'Yes, sir. All of us.'

'OK, son. Back away; leave the situation to us.'

The sergeant and his squad of officers moved in the direction of the trailer while Rusty remained behind with the ASPCA rep, who swiftly completed her work.  
'You know,' she said, 'I should be taking these animals into custody. They need treatment by a competent vet.'

'I know, ma'am,' said Rusty hastily, 'but we have that covered, now that Landry and his bunch are out of the picture. See, these animals are the only thing this circus has. Without them we'd have to close down. I just can't see all these people put out of work when…'

'I hear you,' said the representative. 'Just so they're taken care of. And I'll be back for an update.'

'Thanks, ma'am.'

Rusty shook her hand. She got in her car and drove away.

From a safe distance Parker, Hardison and Eliot watched with satisfaction as the men were hauled out one by one, frisked, handcuffed and placed in the back seat of several police cars.

After the last police car left, everyone involved, including the Leverage team, came out of the woodwork to congratulate themselves in general and Parker in particular for a job well done. Parker handed the credit back to them and to Eliot and Hardison for the parts they had played.

The elated cirkys descended upon the three, pumping their hands, laughing and talking all at once.

‘Just one question, Miss Parker,' asked one of the cirkys, 'how did you make it look like you were stabbed?'

'Yah - how you do dat?' asked Kostas Thanatos, the Greek strongman. He had been extremely impressed.

Parker demonstrated the device she wore under her costume, a spring-loaded plate that flicked a knife handle up the instant Eliot threw. It was a prop provided her by the man who had played the incensed lawyer; he was a member of the local theater.

Eliot showed them how he palmed the knife up his sleeve just as he extended his hand for the 'fatal' throw and the collection of small rubber knives he had thrown at the crowd.

'Glad they weren't real!' exclaimed the Little Person. 'You never missed with any of 'em!'

'We knew if we went crazy on 'em, Landry would want to sell instead of hanging on.'

Hardison, still dressed as Abdullah ib Jabreen, spoke in his Arabic accent. 'Ah, yes, and he called me immediately. He was very interested in selling. Very interested, indeed.' He whipped off his agal and bowed elegantly to the crowd, who cheered him.

The man who had played the enraged lawyer had no need to spray his face with an atomizer bottle for special effects; he was sweating for real now in the heat. He was congratulated on his performance. Everyone who'd been struck by a rubber knife, popped a balloon full of fake blood or otherwise had a significant part in the show got clapped on the back or picked up and hugged.

'What about your wire walking, Parker?' asked one of the cirkys.

'Yeah, how in hell did you do that? That was awesome!' exclaimed another.

Eliot spoke for her. 'That was no trick. She actually did that.'

'No shit?'

'Wow!'

'Yeah,' Hardison began, 'you oughta see her dance in a room full of las-'

Eliot stopped Hardison with a frown and a quick shake of the head.

Rusty stepped up to Parker and kissed her on the cheek. 'You have a job here, whenever whatever it is you do doesn't work for ya anymore.'

'Thanks, Rusty.'

'Good treeks,' said Kostas. 'Very good treeks. You both good cirkys. You not can stay?'

Eliot high-fived the man and shook his head. 'Naw, man, we gotta be going. Nice workin' with you - all of you.'

Rusty grinned. 'Yeah, they've done their job, now they're gonna ride off on their white horse. Where's the silver bullet?'

Hardison grinned at him. 'Lone Ranger, right?'

'Hell, yeah, man, I watch TV too.'

Hardison handed Rusty a manila envelope.

'What's this?'

'A little something extra. Open it later.'

Hardison walked toward Lucille; Eliot and Parker, the mastermind, followed.

‘Miss Parker, wait!’ Rusty called after her.

She turned to face him. There was a sadness in her eyes; this was one she'd miss. ‘Hey, Rusty.’

‘You did it. You really put on a show today. You got it done, just as you said you would. I-’

‘It’s what we do, Rusty. This is…’ she shrugged. ‘It’s what we do. We find a way to fix things that are wrong…make them better. Make it right.’

‘Damned if you didn’t actually do it. Rusty shook his head in amazement. 'You didn't tell me what happens now.’

‘Now? Well, maybe you didn’t know, but Landry said Janovski’s circus is closing. They’re in Oklahoma now but what’s left of the acts and equipment will here in a few weeks. My team paid to send for them. By the time they get here your stock, especially the elephants and horses, will have pretty much recovered. You'll be able to combine the two into a bigger circus that’ll bring in more money for you and your people. A lot more money.’

‘I hear you saying my stock and now you’re saying my circus will be making money…Miss Parker, what are you trying to tell me?’

‘That envelope Hardison gave you. It's a clear title. Rusty, this will be your circus. I’ve seen you work. There’s nothing you can't do; nothing you don’t know about running an outfit like this. Unless you want to be a roustabout forever, do you want the job?’

'You…you mean I'll be Landry?'

'I hope not.' Parker grinned. 'But you'll have his job. Think you can handle it?'

'Aw, hell, Miss Parker, after the show you guys put on, I can handle anything!'

Parker pointed to the road beyond, where trucks and trailers were arriving to take the circus stock to several vets in the area. They would be treated and be cared for until Janovsky’s came to town.

She kissed Rusty lightly on the cheek.

'So long, Parker,' he said sadly.

'Bye, Rusty. Go on. See to your circus.'

Rusty flashed a wide grin and took off running.

~~~~~

Parker climbed into the front seat beside Eliot. Hardison was already in Lucille's back seat, sipping an orange soda. Eliot turned to his partner.

‘Parker, I gotta hand it to ya – I didn’t think this would work.’

Parker grinned.

‘I don’t think Nate coulda done better,’ said Hardison. 'This was a fun job, Parker.'

'Man,' said Eliot, 'I can remember when the circus came to town when I was a kid.'

'You were a kid?'

'Don't start, Hardison.'

They drove on in silence for a while.

'All the great performers,' Parker mused, looking out the window at the sunset, 'most of 'em before our time, but they'll live forever. Emmett Kelly, The Wallendas, Houdini, Gargantua, Jumbo…hey, Eliot, did you know wrestling came out of the circus?'

'No shit?'

'Hey, Parker, you could have ended up as one of the immortals … if you'd stayed. Never saw anything like what you did on this job. They wanted you - you were one of 'em.' Hardison leaned forward to peck Parker on the cheek. 'Glad you didn't stay, Babe.'

'Aw, I could never leave you guys. Besides I remember what someone once said about the circus. Remember that actor … David Niven … '

'Who, Parker?'

'Didn't you ever see The Bishop's Wife? Comes on TCM around Christmas.'

'No, Hardison, I'm not into watching fifty year old movies! Especially during football season!!'

'Anyway…' Parker continued, 'know what he said? He said, _Keep the circus going inside you, keep it going, don't take anything too seriously. It'll all work out in the end.'_

THE END


End file.
